


Direction of the Wind, Part I

by flamethrower



Series: Re-Entry: Journey of the Whills [8]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode I: The Phantom Menace
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, F/M, GFY, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-05
Updated: 2013-08-05
Packaged: 2017-12-22 12:03:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/912992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flamethrower/pseuds/flamethrower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Obi-Wan and Anakin get used to dealing with each other without their respective buffers; a Queen pays a visit, as does a Senator, and Bant gets to be devious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Direction of the Wind, Part I

Republic Date 5201: 1/6th

Jedi Temple, Coruscant

 

When Anakin awoke that morning and discovered that Qui-Gon and Rillian had departed hours earlier, he was upset and angry.  “You should have let me say goodbye,” Anakin said, his chin jutting out at a near-ridiculous angle.

Obi-Wan took in the glint in his Padawan’s eyes and the firm set of his mouth, and repressed the urge to sigh.  Instead, he used one finger to gently push in at Anakin’s chin until that tell-tale jut was much diminished.  “You do have a comm, and a fully functional bond with the pair of them.  It isn’t like they’re beyond your reach.”

Anakin accepted the chin-correction with a growl.  “You and your tells,” he grumbled.  “Yeah, I have a bond and a comm, but it’s not the same thing as seeing them off in person if something bad happens!”

The realization was like being punched in the sternum.  Five days shy of being sixty-four Standard, and he was still an idiot.  “Force, you’re right.  I’m sorry, Anakin.  I’ll wake you next time, I promise.”

Anakin’s eyes widened; he nodded once in acceptance before disappearing into the ’fresher for his morning shower.  Obi-Wan started breakfast, intent on eating something to make up for an entire night spent sleepless. 

“It wasn’t just that, though,” Obi-Wan said, when Anakin rejoined him in the kitchen, his hair sticking up in unruly spikes.  “That wasn’t the only reason you were upset.”

His Padawan sighed.  “You’ll think it’s stupid.”

“Believe me, I rarely do,” Obi-Wan replied, handing over a cup of tea without being asked.  His Padawan had been denied an early start to his caff habit by Terza.  Obi-Wan was trying to make the health-related mandate sting a bit less by providing strong, dark tea that could compete with caff for bitter flavor and caffeine content.  He would willingly admit to some vested self-interest in such strong tea.  If his new duties kept up at the same pace, Obi-Wan was going to make sure Garen taught them both how to make rust-stripping caff.

“Okay,” Anakin said, sitting down with a pensive cast to his features.  “It’s like…I woke up, and they weren’t here.  And the first thing I thought was that it was like before, and it would be just as miserable and lonely and—”

 _Dammit,_ Obi-Wan thought, and the next instant had his apprentice in a bone-bruising hug.  “It’s _not,”_ he insisted, as Anakin’s arms went around him just as tightly.  “It isn’t and it won’t be.  For starters, I’m not as much of an ass.”

“Master, you weren’t an ass.”

Obi-Wan stepped back, and couldn’t resist the urge to lay his finger on the end of Anakin’s nose.  “Perhaps I was not.  But I should have fought harder for you than I did.  I should have seen to it that you made it home.”

Anakin shrugged, uncomfortable with so much stark honesty presented before breakfast.  “Maybe.  But it doesn’t matter now.  We talk more, right?”

“And no bad habits,” Obi-Wan agreed, shaking Anakin’s hand with as much solemnity as on their very first meeting.

“Awesome.  Let’s eat,” Anakin said, breaking into a smile.  “I’ve got my blueprints done.”

“You work fast,” Obi-Wan said, shaking his head.

“Look, just because _you_ can’t blueprint worth a spanner’s bit…”

Breakfast was forgotten as blueprints were retrieved, and the kitchen table disappeared under the plans Anakin had drawn up.  “Huh.  Mace is either going to love it, or growl for weeks about how you’re tapping into the maintenance ducts,” Obi-Wan commented, using his tea mug to hold down one corner of the sheet.

“He’ll do both, I bet,” Anakin mumbled through a bite of toast.  “Here, look at this one.”

Their quarters became a tribute to blueprints before the first door chime announcement of the day sounded.  Obi-Wan looked up, holding three sheets together as they tried to do a visual confirmation for a pneumatic line.  “You’re expecting someone?”

“ _You’re_ the Councilor, Master,” Anakin retorted, heading to the door.  “I’ll betcha it’s for you.”  He opened the door and flushed bright red.  “Oh, Force!  Geeze, get in here before someone sees you!”

“I’m in disguise, Ani; relax!  I didn’t want to be followed through the entire Temple,” Padmé Naberrie replied with a grin on her face.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” Obi-Wan greeted her, and earned himself a scowl.  She was in a shirt and breeches, with a knee-length overcoat for the seasonal chilly winds, but all was black except for the shirt.  It was the same shade of blue as the earlier dress, and once again the color teased his memory with its familiarity.  Not a uniform, but close enough in resemblance that she fit in perfectly with the young Senate pages who visited the Temple.  “You seem to be missing your usual companion.”

“We’re not standing in a formal setting, Obi-Wan Kenobi, and you’ll stop that this instant,” Padmé told him.  “Knock it off.”

“Yes, ma’am.”  He grinned as she gave him another dark look.

“What are you doing here?” Anakin had a huge smile on his face.  “Not that I’m complaining or anything!  It’s just unexpected.”

“If I came all the way to Coruscant and _didn’t_ visit, I would be a very bad friend,” Padmé declared, and subjected Anakin to a fierce hug.

She gave Obi-Wan a similar greeting, and then said, “Eirtaé is flirting with someone named Tascha Farrel.  Farrel remembered both of us from last year, so Eirtaé agreed to distract her so I could visit without attracting undue attention.”

“Tascha is a good woman, if the flirtation continues,” Obi-Wan said, as Padmé peered at the nearest set of unfurled blueprints with interest.  “I’m glad you could make it, though you’ve missed the other half of our quartet.  Journeying to Tholatin, as of early this morning,” he explained when she gave him a curious look.

“Drat.  At least I saw Master Qui-Gon yesterday,” Padmé said, collapsing onto the couch when Anakin moved a diagram out of the way.  “I knew from being here last year that the Senate was inordinately fond of pomp and circumstance, and I use that to my own advantage whenever I can.  But Horace’s confirmation—” she broke off, shaking her head.  “Now I know why Senator Yarua keeps threatening to eat Senator Tikkes.  I thought it was just a joke.”

“Unfortunately not.  The committees have so much invested in themselves that it’s still difficult to swing anything around them,” Obi-Wan said, unfolding one of Anakin’s blueprints and pinning it to the wall with a light touch in the Force.  “It’s part of the reason I advised you not to speak ill of Chancellor Valorum when you plead Naboo’s case before the Senate.”

“That, and to keep me from playing into a Sith Lord’s hands,” Padmé said, frowning.

“That wouldn’t have been your fault,” Anakin insisted, but Obi-Wan could sense that she wasn’t in the mood to be convinced.  A distraction was called for, then.

Obi-Wan pointed at the print he was holding up.  “Tell me what you think of this, Padmé.”

Padmé blinked her surprise at the request but hopped up quickly, coming to gaze at the blueprint in question.  “Wow,” she breathed a moment later.  “Advanced bionic replacement.  I was wondering if there would be anything put in place for the systems who balk at cloning options.  Is it your design, Ani?”

“One of several,” Anakin confirmed with a nod.  “There were some improvements I made later, but I can’t quite remember what they were.  This, though,” he said, and ran his fingers over the notations on the biological interface, “is what makes the artificial skin-grafting system as responsive as the real thing.”

“While costing far, far less than current options, I’m guessing,” Padmé surmised.  “I used to love tinkering, but when I confirmed my political field, I didn’t have time any longer.  Maybe I should decline Master Yoda’s offer and do this, instead.”

“Hey, there’s no reason you can’t do both,” Anakin said quickly, though his eyes lit up at the thought of Padmé performing any sort of mechanical work.  “If I can do it, so can you!”

“You, dear Anakin, are a genius,” she said, shaking her head as she smiled.  “But I’ve still got three years before I worry about that.  I’ll stick with admiring your blueprints, for now.”  She glanced over at the sheet taking up the length of the living room table.  “What’s that one?”

“A secondary security system for the Temple,” Obi-Wan said, fighting a smile.

Padmé tilted her head, taking in the diagram, before clamping a hand over her mouth to keep a laugh from spilling forth.  “Oh, gods, really?” she gasped, her eyes bright with amusement.

“Oh, yeah.  Keep that one quiet.  We haven’t sprung it on anyone yet,” Anakin said with a proud, mischievous grin.  “Whatcha think?”

“I think that’s a brilliant idea and if you’ll design it, I want one for the Palace in Theed,” she said, wrapping her arm around Anakin’s shoulders and giving him an abbreviated hug.

“Yeah, I can do that.  Once I’m done with testing, I’ll start work on a set for you.”

“Once you get done—Anakin Skywalker, are you working from the notion that it’s easier to ask forgiveness than permission?” Padmé asked, grinning at them both.

“The beta models have been making patrols for about a week now,” Obi-Wan said, his own mood lightening.  He already missed his spouse, but if they kept getting visitors that shared his and his Padawan’s love of mischief, the days would pass quickly.  “Tea?”

“Tea would be lovely, and breakfast if it would not be an imposition,” she said, looking grateful.  “We had to get out of the Senate guest quarters at an ungodly hour, but it’s worth it to have the entire day free.  Sabé agreed to play the part of Queen Amidala once more, the better to enjoy rich food during several unimportant political gatherings on my behalf.”

Anakin made a face.  “She likes the things they serve during those elbow-rubbing shindigs?”

“She always did have expensive taste.”  Padmé shook her head.  “She’s considering taking up a position on Coruscant after my tenure is done.  I had to bite my tongue to keep from telling her that I already knew that.”

“Our lives are weird,” Anakin agreed.

 Obi-Wan mentally reviewed his schedule for the day; light, now that he had only one Padawan to worry about, and no lifemate in residence.  “Should I invite Eirtaé to join us?”

“She would regard it as a kindness, and so would I.  As long as you don’t mind that she’s a shameless flirt,” Padmé confided with a smile.

“You do remember Knight Garen Muln, right?” Anakin asked.  Padmé laughed.

Obi-Wan shook his head; Eirtaé was far more subtle than Garen.  “I don’t mind.  We got distracted and forgot to have breakfast, anyway.  Anakin, will you put in the call to Farrel?  I imagine she can get Eirtaé up here through the back ways to avoid notice.”

“Right,” Anakin said, heading to the terminal.  “Should I invite Tascha to join us, and complete the bribe with some food?”

Padmé snickered.  “Are there any Jedi who don’t respond well to being fed?”

“You must have spoiled Quin rotten,” Obi-Wan answered, pulling a container of fruit salad from the cold store.  The sight of it had the young Queen nodding in enthusiastic agreement.

“He was available for every evening meal, and still my staff caught him raiding the kitchens almost every night.  That man’s metabolism is a frightening thing.”

“Misdirection,” Obi-Wan commented, reheating the food that had been cooked earlier.  “We’re naughty when it comes to that sort of thing.”

“Misdirection?” she repeated, accepting a bowl of the salad and tucking in.  “What did I miss this time?”

“Aayla is really shy,” Anakin told her, pouring a bowl of grain cereal before adding a scoop of the salad.  Then he poured milk over the entire mess.  Obi-Wan gave him a glare when Anakin tried to offer him the same.  Anakin shrugged and kept talking.  “She works hard not to be, but some of it is psychological because of crap that happened to her before she came to the Temple as a kid.  Master Quinlan will push Aayla all day long, but he gives her a break at night so she doesn’t just fall to bits.  He was swiping food for her, since she’s a growing kid still.”

Padmé groaned.  “I should have thought of that.”

“Don’t feel bad, but keep it in mind.  Always be suspicious if a Jedi Master admits to the most obvious answer.  It might be true, but it’s probably not the _only_ truth,” Obi-Wan said, smiling when Padmé’s evident frustration was replaced by consideration.

“You’re all trying to get me used to Master Yoda, aren’t you?” she asked a moment later.

“Now who’s the genius?”  Anakin grinned at her.  “Master Yoda is worse than all of us put together at being inscrutable.  If you can see through Master Quinlan’s shenanigans, you’ve got a better shot at not going crazy during your first year with the troll.”

“Speaking of the troll, you should go see him,” Obi-Wan advised.  “Butter him up now and the Master-Padawan relationship will be easier, later.  He’ll know what to expect, and understand how you respond to the things he says.”

“It’s hard to think of anyone having such a relationship with Master Yoda,” Padmé admitted, her brow furrowing.  “I mean—He’s _Master Yoda._ ”

Anakin glanced at Obi-Wan.  “After breakfast, I’ll take you down to the crèche.  We can hide out and watch him deal with the younglings.  That should make it easier to believe.”

Padmé’s mood lightened visibly as the door chime sounded.  Obi-Wan extended his senses in that direction and was surprised to find that it wasn’t the girls arriving.  “Padmé, are you comfortable with Bail Organa knowing of your presence here?”

Her eyes widened.  “I—do you trust him?  The same way that you did before?”

He nodded; Padmé relaxed.  “Then I’m fine with it, as long as he understands that Queen Amidala isn’t here.”

“Easy enough to explain.  Hello, Bail,” Obi-Wan greeted the other man, before the door had the chance to slide fully open.

“You know, it’s still weird when you do that before you can even see me,” Bail complained, but he was smiling.  “Good morning.  I’m here unofficially, but with an official request.  Esu has been trying to raise Qui-Gon with a question about the delegation.  Is he available?”

“She missed him by four hours,” Obi-Wan said as he invited Bail inside.  “Tholatin’s petition for Republic admission might be collapsing.  He and Rillian went to see if Master Licia required aid.”

“Damn,” Bail muttered, and then halted in surprise as he realized that he was not their only guest.  “Queen Amidala,” he said, sketching a quick bow.  “A delight to see you again, if unexpected, since I’ve already seen you today among the crowds drifting through the Senate dome.”

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Senator Organa, but I’m afraid I haven’t the slightest clue as to whom you’re referring,” she said, winking at him.  “I’m Padmé Naberrie.”

Bail laughed.  “The decoy system—that’s brilliant.  I wish _I’d_ done that.  I’d have more free time.  Since you are not the Queen of Naboo, I have to insist that you call me Bail,” he said, holding out his hand.

“Padmé,” she said, accepting the handshake with an amused look.  “We seem to have mutual friends.”

“That we do.  They’re a lot of trouble, but the best kinds of friends always are.”

Anakin raised an eyebrow, as if thinking the greeting had gone on a bit too long.

 _Easy, Padawan.  They were just friends, before.  Let them find it again on their own,_ Obi-Wan advised, lifting his mug to take a sip.

 _Oh, I know,_ Anakin returned, a thoughtful expression on his face.  _I don’t mind.  I mean, Padmé had sex with Bail before we met her again.  The last time, anyway._

Obi-Wan coughed, choked, and passed tea through his nose.  _They did not!_

Anakin burst out laughing while Obi-Wan leaned over the sink, spitting and swearing.  “Okay, that was worth it,” his Padawan chortled.  _No, they didn’t.  But I don’t get to shock you very often!_

“That wasn’t funny,” Obi-Wan grumbled, rinsing his face.  _You’re going to pay for that._

“That depends entirely on your point of view,” Anakin shot back, a huge grin on his face.  _Bring it on!_

“What in the hell did you say to him?” Bail wanted to know, torn between concern and laughter.

“There are disadvantages to having a Padawan who is far too aware of your sexual history,” Obi-Wan said, wiping his face with a towel.  _When you least expect it, Padawan Skywalker…_

Bail blushed.  “Ah,” he said, looking at Padmé.  For her part, the girl had a knowing smile on her face that was just shy of a smirk.  “I see in this room that certain things have already been revealed.  At least I’m of age, now, so our sordid history is no longer a matter to be concerned with.”

“Sordid history?” Padmé looked curious, and Obi-Wan tried not to glower at her.  He’d given up any reasonable expectation of privacy with his Sharing, but he was not going to be the one to inform Bail Organa that Padmé Naberrie was well-aware of what he looked like naked.  Of what they _both_ looked like.

Damn.  Now he was fighting the urge to blush, as well.

“We were…ah…well—” Bail sputtered.

“We were companionable for a comfortable length of time during our eighteenth year,” Obi-Wan supplied, as Anakin snickered at the surfeit of descriptive language.

“But—but you were _eighteen Standard_ ,” Padmé blurted, shocked.  “How in the worlds is that underage?”

“So, sexual majority is really twelve Standard on Naboo?” Bail asked, curious, as he accepted tea from Anakin.  “Honey, too, please, if you’ve got it.”  Obi-Wan handed over the jar before retaking his seat, still sniffing back moisture.  His sinuses hadn’t needed a bloody tannic acid scrubbing.

“If we’re considered able to hold responsible positions in our society from twelve onward, we’re considered responsible enough to monitor our own sex lives,” Padmé replied, nodding.  “But really, Bail—eighteen?”

“Sexual majority among the aristocratic classes of Alderaan is twenty-one Standard,” Bail returned dryly.  “A majority I only just attained six months ago.  My relationship with Obi-Wan was kept very, _very_ quiet.”

“Qui-Gon didn’t even know until recently,” Obi-Wan told her, while Padmé sat back in her chair, floored by the notion of such a late age of majority.  “Alderaan’s houses take sexual liaisons very seriously, up to and including expulsion from the family for early, unapproved relationships.  Bail’s parents would never have done something so ridiculous, but it would have hurt his standing with the other houses, and damaged his political reputation.”

“And yet you seem comfortable with people knowing of it now.  Wouldn’t it still be seen as improper?” Padmé asked.

“Ah.”  Bail smiled without humor.  “Now that I am of age, my earlier infidelities can be revealed without harm, as it’s considered a mark of _good breeding_ to have managed to conceal them so thoroughly.  I did honor to my family by not getting caught, etcetera, etcetera.”

“I’d say that was barbaric, but I’ve been to Tatooine,” she said, and Anakin nodded rueful agreement.  “It still seems a strange attitude to have in a system that was part of the Republic’s founding.”

“That’s actually the problem,” Bail explained, resting his elbows on the table as he cradled his mug of tea with both hands.  “It’s been that way for a long, long time.  My family is working to change things, and I plan to do my part to help, but it will probably take several generations to wipe out the mindset.  The old houses of Alderaan are as ridiculous in their way as the Senate is for procedural nonsense.” 

Bail shrugged, downing half of his tea in one long swallow.  “I have to get back soon,” he said as the door chime finally announced Eirtaé and Farrel’s arrival.  “Obi-Wan, if you can get these questions answered for Senator Rotsino, or find someone who can, I’d be grateful.”  

Obi-Wan took the ’plast sheet that Bail offered, taking a quick glance at the list.  “I can handle most of these, myself.  I’ll make sure Rotsino gets her answers before noon today.”

“Excellent.”  The rest of the tea disappeared as Anakin escorted Tascha Farrel and Eirtaé into the kitchen.  “Padmé Naberrie, I do hope we can speak again.  Please, ah,” Bail added, a mischievous glint in his eyes, “Please let Queen Amidala know that she shares in your invitation.  Guard Farrel, Handmaiden Eirtaé, it’s a pleasure, but I’m in a rush.”

Tascha reset Bail’s abandoned chair for Eirtaé to seat herself in, giving Obi-Wan an amused look.  “Do you have any more secretive visitors I should expect today, or is that the lot of them?”

“I have no blasted idea,” Obi-Wan said, rolling his eyes at the Zeltron before seeing his friend out.

Padmé had not been exaggerating.  Eirtaé really _was_ a shameless flirt, and Tascha was almost as bad.  By the end of the meal, the girls were so absorbed in shooting one-liners at each other that Obi-Wan felt his, Anakin, and Padmé’s presence was superfluous.

Padmé looked at Anakin and mouthed, “Escape!”

Anakin wasn’t about to look a gift Bantha in the mouth.  “Eirtaé, Guard Farrel, I promised Padmé a tour of the creche, but I need to do it now or we’ll miss the opportunity.  I’ll see you later?” 

“Oh!  Yes, yes, certainly, Padawan Skywalker,” Eirtaé said, tearing her attention away from Tascha.  “In fact, that is an excellent idea.  Guard Farrel, would you be available to give me a tour of the Temple, as well?”

“Let me put in a call,” Tascha said, smiling.

“ _I’ll_ put in the call,” Obi-Wan insisted, narrowing his eyes.  “You lot need to get out of my quarters so I can go to work!”

Eirtaé and Farrel departed while he put in the notice to Jude Rozess, which left Padmé and Anakin to clear off the table.  Padmé was shaking her head.  “She always channels her Queen Amidala impersonation when she wants to go make out with someone.”

“And that’s already more than I wanted to know,” Obi-Wan muttered, coming back into the kitchen to help finish cleaning up.

“Do you actually plan on working today, Master?” Anakin asked with a sly smile.

“Yes, Padawan, I do,” Obi-Wan retorted.  “Both of you, get out of my hair and stay gone until dinner.  Anakin, make sure you take that final assessment today, or the Language Masters will have your head.  Padmé, take these to Yoda,” he instructed, and tossed a container in her direction.

She caught it and pried off the lid.  “Cookies?”

“Nauf’la cookies.  Even trolls are susceptible to bribery.”

 

*          *          *          *

 

“No,” Bant said, blocking the door with her arms crossed firmly over her chest.

“That’s _my_ office!” Obi-Wan protested, when she began bodily shoving him back down the hall.

“Not until tomorrow, it’s not.  You’re working from home today until I finish dealing with this mess.”

“Unless you really did set it on fire, there is no way in hell you’re going to have that done by tomorrow.  I need my files, Bant!”

She shoved two data disks and a stack of flimsies into his hands.  “There’s today’s nonsense.  And if you think I can’t deal with a single room in less than two days, you’re underestimating me.  Now go away!”

Obi-Wan sighed and retreated, thinking darkly that he had created an amphibious monster.

He had Rotsino’s questions answered and sent off by noon.  Most of it was related to procedure that he could still perform in his sleep, though one or two of her questions had seemed oddly specific about the Kaminoans themselves.  It made him wonder what the woman had ferreted out about his previous involvement with the Kamino government, especially as it had now _never happened._

Most of the Temple minutiae was time-consuming only because it was still new.  He was able to put his signature on sixteen reports after getting used to the layouts of each submission.    Yarael’s seat also held sway over the business aspects of the Healers’ Ward, and it made him happy to be able to sign off on the budget requests for expanding the new bacta area.  Obi-Wan sent his own note back down to the Healers, suggesting that they put in a request to acquire a bacta recycler for every tank, instead of just the two they already had.  Obi-Wan remembered how fast bacta reserves could be depleted.  He would happily sign report after report about dusty recyclers as long as they were available when the Order needed them.

That done, Obi-Wan spent a few hours finalizing a detail on one of his own blueprints, wishing he had time to actually build the device in question.  “Am I doing this right?” he asked Anakin, once his Padawan had returned home after taking his final assessment test.

Anakin shoved a ration bar into his mouth and chewed while looking over the diagnostic notes.  “Yeph.  I mean, yeah.  Anyone should be able to do a build from this.  I didn’t even think about these, either.”

“You’ve been busy with everything else,” Obi-Wan replied, rolling up the prints and sliding them into a protective tube.  “Is Padmé still with Yoda?”

Anakin nodded.  “He was enjoying the visit before I had to go for my last test.  I think he’s using it partly to see what Quinlan taught her, but mostly because he’s looking forward to having a Padawan again.”

Obi-Wan smiled.  _Never say never, you old troll,_ he thought, remembering Yoda’s almost puerile insistence that he would never have a Padawan again, no matter what kind of student Luke Skywalker turned out to be.  “She’ll spoil him rotten.”

“Probably.”  Anakin grinned in agreement.

“I believe we should plan for both Padmé and Yoda’s company for dinner, then,” Obi-Wan said, standing up to stretch.  The last of his notes could be transcribed later.  “I’ve been thinking about something.”

“Yeah?” Anakin called, rummaging in the coldstore for more to eat.  Obi-Wan suspected a long-delayed growth spurt was about to strike in earnest.

“We know the Sith manipulated certain aspects of Order life.  Do you think the Sith altered technology growth, or could that be a coincidence?”

Anakin frowned as he put together a sandwich.  “Huh.  I didn’t think of that.  What’s been delayed?”

“Power cell tech, for one.  Odan-Urr’s holocron pointed out the inconsistency.  Power cell evolution was happening at an exponential rate when he was alive.  But in the last two thousand years, that field’s growth has slowed to a crawl.  A ninety percent growth rate per decade has dropped down to…”  Obi-Wan picked up a piece of ’plast covered in yesterday’s research notes.  “Twelve percent, and still dropping.”

“Weird, but not necessarily due to anyone’s influence,” Anakin said.  He sat down at the table with Obi-Wan, sandwich now largely forgotten.  His Padawan might be undergoing a second childhood, but even the first time around, Anakin had known and understood mechanics, patterns, and engineering like no one else Obi-Wan had ever met.  “Sometimes interest wanes, and then there goes the development budget.  Anything else?”

“Bionics, possibly.  Droid technology has been proceeding along at about the same rate for hundreds of years, but bionics have almost stalled out,” Obi-Wan said.  “Considering the systems-wide bans against organic, cloned replacements, that strikes me as odd.”

“Well, we can help with some of that, at least,” Anakin responded, “ _if_ they listen to us at the conference.  But yeah, you’re right.  That is messed up.  You think maybe it hit communications too?  I could have sworn I remember our tools being more diverse than _this._ ”

“At first it was the same.  The advancements came later, when we were both fighting in that damned war.  And yet,” Obi-Wan whapped the blueprint tube against the tabletop, “all of those technologies _already exist_.  None of them have been combined together.  I can find records of proposals to do so, but either the projects were canceled, or the recommendation is dismissed outright.”

“Weird.  And the flex screens should be a lot more common than they are.  They’re cheap to build, and it’d be a heck of a lot more convenient to carry around a flex-screen rod instead of a datapad.  Plus, you could integrate a comm system into one easily.”  Anakin frowned.  “Sith, Master, now I get why you and Master Mace were both pressing for this conference.  I just don’t understand what kind of advantages this would give to the Sith, delaying tech like this.”

“Me neither.  Maybe we’re only paranoid, and it _is_ just a coincidence,” Obi-Wan admitted.

He and Anakin were quiet for a time, the silence broken by nothing more startling than Teya jumping up onto the table to beg for scraps of cold meat.  “Forgetting your manners won’t get you scraps, purr bag,” Obi-Wan told the cat, putting Teya back down on the floor.

Teya swished his tail and stalked off, artfully implying that he hadn’t been interested in their food at all, and how dare they think such a thing?

“And you need a collar!” Obi-Wan yelled at the cat.  “Before someone mistakes you for a meal!”

 _“Meff!_ ”

“Sooooo, I just had a scary, depressing thought,” Anakin announced as he finished the last of his food.

“Have at it,” Obi-Wan invited, leaning back.  The minute he allowed his arm to fall, letting his hand dangle above the floor, Teya bolted over to investigate.  Easy mark, Obi-Wan thought with a smile, as the cat washed his fingers in hopes of finding interesting, tasty remnants.

Anakin bit his lip, and then said, “What if these tech delays have nothing to do with the Sith?  What if technology stagnated because the Order stagnated?”

 _Fuck,_ Obi-Wan thought, disconcerted.  “You’re right.  That is a scary, depressing thought.”

“Told you,” Anakin said in unhappy agreement.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Dinner went well, but Yoda’s presence only served to make Obi-Wan painfully aware that two of their quartet were missing.  The extra presences made the kitchen feel warm and comfortable, reminiscent of the boisterous family meals on Kaazcint.  Qui-Gon would have loved it; Rillian would have been enthralled.

 _We need to do this again.  A lot_ , Anakin said, catching the thought.  _Even if we have to wait two more years to do it._

_We’ll see Padmé again before her tenure is up._

Anakin gave him a quick, almost imperceptible shake of his head. _Not unless we go to Naboo.  I can sense it._

Obi-Wan had to bite back an automatic urge to chide his Padawan about making such predictions.  He saw many things in their future—nothing that would confirm Anakin’s proclamation—but Anakin’s intuitions about Padmé would always be stronger.  It was a side-effect of their fledgling Lifebond.

 _Force, may I not fuck that up,_ Anakin muttered, and turned his attention back to the ongoing conversation.

Yoda departed first, insisting that he owed the crechelings a story.  Before he left, he made Padmé kneel before him.  “Shield, shield, shield,” the ancient Master instructed, his voice firm, eyes shrewd.  “Important this is; protect you, it will.  Practice, you _must._   Polite it is, also.  To be quiet, you shall learn, as some here also did,” Yoda said, glancing up at Obi-Wan.

“Whoever said I learned to be quiet?” Obi-Wan shot back.  “I’m _still_ loud.”

Yoda snorted.  “Use Obi-Wan as an example, you should not.  No volume control he has.”

Padmé grinned.  “Yes, Master.”

At hearing the title, the little being’s expression softened into what Anakin mutely dubbed ‘soppy.’  “A good student, you are.  Learned much you have.  Tell on Knight Vos, we will not.  Visit you I shall,” Yoda said next, surprising them all.  “Do this often, I cannot, but visits there will be.”

“You will always be welcome, Master,” Padmé said softly, and gave the diminutive Master a hug.

Yoda’s ears twitched as he smiled.  He left the apartment, muttering under his breath, and looking even soppier than before.

Obi-Wan pressed a data disk into Padmé’s hand after she put her coat back on.  “If you need to contact myself, Qui-Gon, Anakin, Rillian, or Master Yoda, use this.”

She slipped the disk into a pocket inside her coat.  “What is it?”

“Anakin might know bionics, but I know codes.”  He’d spent twenty years writing them for the Alliance, after all.  “Use this to program a single comm device; don’t use that commlink for anything else.  If you ever need to speak to us, you can hook up that comm to any terminal.  Any calls you make with that encrypted comm will give code slicers nightmares.”

Padmé nodded and hugged him.  “Take care, Obi-Wan.”  Then, to his surprise, she said something else.  _Take care of him, too,_ she sent, her mental voice shaky, but still clear and audible.

Yoda was right; Padmé was just as loud as he was.  Obi-Wan wondered, as he stepped back, if it was a talent he’d inadvertently given her, like her understanding of Shyriiwook.

The young Queen and his younger Padawan faced each other in front of the door.  Padmé tilted her head, amused; Anakin bit his lip, smiled, and then flushed.  “Uhm…”

“Padawan, why don’t you see our guest to the turbolifts?” Obi-Wan suggested, trying not to laugh at the blatant display of nerves.

“Right!” Anakin blurted, grinning.  “Turbolifts.  Great idea,” he said, palming open the door and gesturing for Padmé to precede him.

When Anakin returned five minutes later, there was a huge, dopey smile on his face.  The soppiness was spreading.

“Did she kiss you?” Obi-Wan asked, amused.

“Uh—yeah.”

He grinned.  “Just think: If you’re correct, you’ll be thirteen Standard when you see her again.”

Anakin nodded faintly.  If not for gravity’s hold, he would have been floating.  “Yeah, once she’s done seeing the new Queen into office.”

“Some things are worth waiting for, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, and returned to his notes.  Then he grinned and added, “Don’t get her pregnant until you’re both Knighted, please.”

“Master!” Anakin squeaked in dismay.

Obi-Wan went to bed early, with the best of intentions.  He didn’t want to get back into the old habit of not sleeping, not when he had so many more responsibilities.

That was the plan, anyway.  Instead, he found himself tossing and fidgeting, turning sheets and blanket into a rucked mess.  His body was not pleased to be resting, and his mind refused to settle.

Sighing, he got up and collected his blueprints, heading for the kitchen table.  He hoped that this was temporary insomnia.  Bond jitters from a fresh, first separation.  A pattern that he could break.

He’d already been awake for two straight days.  Fifty-two hours.  Surely things couldn’t get worse. 

Obi-Wan hadn’t been working for very long when there was a hesitant cough.  He looked up and found Anakin standing a few meters away, wrapped in his robe.  “Can’t sleep either, huh?”

“No,” Anakin admitted, joining Obi-Wan at the table.  “I think I’m used to Rillian’s snoring.  It’s too quiet.”

That was a good way of describing it.  Their quarters were meant to hold more warm bodies than this.  After living in the new rooms for such a short time, the absence was keenly noted.  Even Teya had stalked off at dusk, going to prowl the Wilderness Gardens in hopes of something to chase.

“You could always have Artoo mimic the sound.  I’m sure he’d oblige,” Obi-Wan pointed out.

“Artoo is down in the hangar bay,” Anakin said, making a face.  “When I ask, he says he’s just getting used to the Temple, but I think he’s teaching the other Temple droids dirty words.”

“You’d think they knew them all, already,” Obi-Wan murmured.  R4-P17’s vocabulary had been foul from their first meeting. 

“He could stage a rebellion, if he wanted to,” Anakin said with a grin.  “I finally got him to admit—again—that he has a secondary hard drive he keeps his memory files backed up on.  The Naboo wiped his primary drive on a cycle, just like the other droids on Padmé’s ship, but I don’t think he’s had a real wipe in years.”

“I think, by the time your children were grown, he’d figured out how to add a third.  I don’t know how he could have held all of the Death Star’s technical readouts, otherwise,” Obi-Wan said, and then regretted bringing that up. 

Anakin didn’t seem to mind, but his smile wasn’t as bright as it had been a moment ago.  “I’m so glad he’s on our side.”

Obi-Wan looked down at the blueprints on the table.  They were important, yes, but suddenly there was something he wished to do far more than write up technical details.  “I once told you that I’d teach you how to play Sabacc, when we had the time.  Still want to learn?”

Anakin looked baffled.  “Master, that was a long time ago.  Sort of.  Why now?”

“Because we have time,” Obi-Wan said.

Slowly, one of Anakin’s more classic wry grins formed on his face, removing all of the old shadows from his eyes.  “Sure.  But you’re not allowed to cheat.”

Obi-Wan smiled back.  “Padawan, I never do.”

Teaching Anakin the basics of Sabacc was enough to tire them both.  Obi-Wan managed three hours of sleep that night, awoke with a groan when his chrono chimed a morning alarm, and then swore a blue streak.   Teya gave him a reproachful look at the noise and purposefully closed his eyes.

Three hours had been his nightly average during his time on Tatooine, and during the four years before his bonding.  It seemed his body, deprived of the presence of his lifemate, was intent on returning to that schedule.

“I liked sleeping,” he complained out loud, with no one but the cat to hear. 

When Obi-Wan stepped into his office later that morning, it was like entering a different room.  The walls and minimalist décor were shades of muted blues and greys, creating an aura of tranquility that soothed him the moment he laid eyes on it.  The dust was long gone; the piles of records, ’plast, and data disks had either been discarded or properly filed in the new cabinets along the south wall.  The desk was the same but had been scrubbed clean, revealing pale brown wood, and was accompanied by a new chair.  There was even a stand with a teapot, emitting fragrant steam.

“You work fast,” he murmured to Bant, who had walked up behind him as he stood in the open doorway.

“I told you so.  You needed it now, not later,” Bant replied, scooting in close to his side and resting her head on his shoulder.  “You like it?”

“I do,” Obi-Wan said, smiling.  “The colors are an interesting choice.”

He could feel the burst of smug satisfaction his friend radiated.  “You had a very pleasant experience in a room decorated much like this.”

Obi-Wan glanced at the colors again, and this time memory struck him: a bedroom, massive but tranquil, and the company of Alderaan’s ruling Prince and his wife.  “Ah,” he said, biting his lip against the grin that tried to form.  “So you want me thinking about sex the entire time I’m in this office.”

“At least you’ll be in a good mood,” Bant returned cheekily.  “Go have a seat, Councilor.  We’ve got work to do, and you have a meeting with the Master of Shadows in half an hour.”

“Do I get to know my schedule any further in advance, or will you be continually springing surprises on me?”

“Sarcastic git.”  Bant took his hand and pulled him over to his desk.  “Touch the pad.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow, but touched the desk protector that ran almost the full length of the space in front of his chair.  It lit up at the first brush of his fingertips, revealing a full menu on a thick, squishy layer of flex-pad.  “Oh, I like this,” he said in delight, dragging open menu options and closing them with quick flicks of his fingers.  The calendar was already full of notations that Bant had added, all of them Council-related.  “My personal budget’s gone, isn’t it.”

“Most of it, yes,” Bant admitted, but she was pleased.  “We can make do with what’s left.  You needed the tools to do your job.”

“All right.  Show me all of the new toys, and then let me know when Master MonMassa arrives.”

Obi-Wan was more or less confident in the clean, redesigned space, and was learning the basics of his new storage system, when the flex-pad lit up with a message from Bant.  She’d taken over a storage room across the way and turned it into a smaller office for herself.  Temple Maintenance had already sent him a message of complaint about it, which he was planning to ignore for at least another day.  They’d been using the room to store terminals that were three hundred years out of date.

[MonMassa is here, and looks nervous.  I suggest tea.]

He grinned and typed a reply.  [I’m plying everyone with tea.  Add it to my budget.  I’ll need it!]

Boda MonMassa did seem nervous, and the moment she had tea and was comfortably seated, she revealed why.  “I want you to teach my Shadows how to be Sith Lords.”

Obi-Wan blinked at her, certain he’d heard the words correctly, and yet still not quite able to believe what she’d said.  “Come again?”

MonMassa sighed, setting down the tea cup and rubbing her forehead with one hand.  “Hear me out, please.  There have been Shadows since the end of the Great Hyperspace War, but after a millennium without any sign of the Sith, we have all but died out as a group.  At one time there were always at least one thousand Shadows working for the Order, helping to maintain balance against the Dark Side, but now I have a mere ninety Knights and Masters under my office.”

“I hadn’t realized your numbers were so few,” Obi-Wan said, but it just helped to confirm what he, Qui-Gon, Tahl, and Micah had discussed.  The Order’s numbers were dropping, and he feared they would once again pay a harsh price if it was allowed to continue.

“Well, there is never an official count in the Archive record,” MonMassa clarified with a tired grin.  “No Shadow is ever publicly identified by the Master of Shadows unless an event tied to their death makes it necessary.  I know every Shadow, and they know me, but beyond that, we try to keep a low profile.  Our line of work is looked at as a dangerous path to corruption by the Dark Side, you know.”

Obi-Wan snorted at the rich veneer of sarcasm that overlaid the Master’s tone.  “Of course it is, which is why the Shadows have such an infamous rate of Turning,” he responded in kind.  He knew of only five recognized Shadows who were known to have Fallen.  It was just another ridiculous layer of the same exaggeration which had caused the Order to implement rules out of fear instead of wisdom.

“If the Sith holocrons in our Archive are fake—and I believe the High Council when it says that they are—then much of our current knowledge for hunting Sith, or Sith artifacts, is useless.  We’ve been dealing with dabblers, Obi-Wan,” MonMassa said, looking troubled.  “Dabblers are not Sith Lords, no matter how arrogant or skilled they think they are.  My people need to know what they’re truly up against, or I’ll lose more of my Shadows to Sidious.”

“Have you heard from your Third?” he asked, sensing the worry she was trying to keep close.  The unidentified Shadow was one of MonMassa’s best, and had been missing for three weeks. 

She shook her head.  “No.  I have a Knight on his trail, and should have more information for the Council come morning.”  The words were optimistic, but MonMassa did not look hopeful about her Third’s survival.  “And that’s why I’m asking for this.  Even the most experienced of us have no idea what we’re getting into.  We need new information, new training, and you are in the prime position to teach it to us.”

“Do you want this information imparted to all your Shadows?” Obi-Wan asked, a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.  She was right, but this wasn’t going to be easy for him.

“Force, no,” MonMassa whispered, sitting back and giving him a sharp look.  “If I had all of my people on Sidious’s trail, I’d soon be out of Shadows, and we would become an extinct body.  I want to give you fifteen of mine.  That’s a reasonable number to manage in a class, especially considering that they’re a mouthy lot.  I want to make sure you’re dealing with the folks who can handle the knowledge you’d give them, and not lose their minds in the process.”

He gave her a searching look.  “You sound as if you want me to be very thorough.”

She smiled humorlessly.  “Master Kenobi, I want you to terrify them.”

“I was afraid you’d say that.”  Obi-Wan pressed his fingertips against his temples, wondering if headache meds were still considered a perk of the job.  “Give me thirty, if you can arrange for them all to be in-Temple at once.  I’ll whittle it down from there to those of your Shadows that can handle what they’ll need to learn.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

He nodded.  “When?”

“I’d say ‘as soon as possible,’ but unfortunately that’s _not_ possible.”  MonMassa sighed.  “Three months?  That’s the best estimate I can give you.  It’ll take me some time to arrange schedules.”

Obi-Wan did some quick mental calculations of his own.  “That could work.  You keep me updated, and I’ll grant you the same.”

 She smiled, stood up, and offered her hand.  He took it; her palm was warm, marked by sharp calluses that told of knife-work as well as lightsaber-wielding.  In the Force her presence was muted out of habit, but Obi-Wan still liked what he sensed.  MonMassa was a strong woman, and Force knew they needed that strength right now.

“I want you to know, though it will never be official—it can _never_ be official—that I consider you one of the Shadows,” she said.  “Your goal is the same as ours, Obi-Wan.  If you ever need anything, ask me, and I will do my best to see to it that you have it.”

 _Corellian brandy.  Lots of it,_ Obi-Wan almost said, but held his tongue.

 

*          *          *          *

 

Bant was seated behind her new desk, comfortably ensconced in a chair designed for her species.  She hadn’t thought much of being a Council secretary when asked, but the work pleased her.  Easy job, good company, and Bant was already deeper into Temple machinations than she had ever expected to find herself. 

Master Tahl loved it; Master Micah made jokes about their doom, which meant he approved, also.  She bent over, sorting files as she made lists of what Obi-Wan needed to see, and the more standard mess that could be shuffled through by her hand alone. 

Master MonMassa had been gone less than two minutes when there was a frustrated shout from the other office.

“Ironwood!” Obi-Wan yelled, audible despite the two sealed doors between them.  “Ironwood fucking blue!”

Bant snickered and bent her head over the reports again.  If random outbursts like those were any indication, her beloved crechemate was certainly going to keep the Council on their collective toes.

 

*          *          *          *

 

“Well, the assessments were all finished yesterday,” Anakin said, flopping down on the couch next to Obi-Wan.  “And you’ve been entirely too quiet about the results.”

“How do you know I even have the results?” Obi-Wan asked without looking up from his datapad.  Evening, and Anakin’s arrival, had caught him by surprise. 

He still wasn’t tired.  Sith _hells_.

“Because you’re biting your tongue to keep from smiling,” Anakin retorted, and snatched the datapad out of Obi-Wan’s hands.  “Give, Master!”

“That one doesn’t have assessment results, it has naughty videos,” Obi-Wan said, catching the datapad with the Force when Anakin jerked his hands away from the device.  “Oh, wait.  My mistake, that one is in the bedroom.”

“That wasn’t very nice,” Anakin grumbled, wiping his hands on his leggings.

“Ah, but my sinuses suddenly feel better,” Obi-Wan returned, grinning in response to Anakin’s put-upon sigh.  “You started it, Padawan Skywalker.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Anakin waved both of his hands in the air.  “Less talk and more grades.  There’s a slot in Master Vrenx’s class with my name on it.”

“And how do you know I’ll sign off on admitting you into the class?” Obi-Wan asked, his grin widening.

Anakin pouted, making his eyes comically wide.  “Because if you do I’ll be the bestest Padawan ever?”

Obi-Wan snorted out a horrified laugh.  “Oh, gods, Anakin.  That was sort of cute when you were five, but right now it’s just creepy.”

“Still funny, though,” Anakin grinned.  “Yeah, okay, I won’t ever do that again.  Grades?”

In response, Obi-Wan pulled up a message he’d received earlier in the afternoon, and put the datapad back into his Padawan’s excited hands.

Anakin read over the short missive quickly, then let out a shrill _whoop!_ of excitement.  “They graduated me!”

“Well, it was hard to argue with the results of your exams,” Obi-Wan said, smiling at Anakin’s enthusiasm.  “And no one accused you of cheating, either.”

“Who needed to cheat?” Anakin said off-handedly, scrolling through the formal results.  “Er…Master Kita-Tai passed me, but is informing me that I should never write poetry again.”

“Don’t take it personally.  I don’t think he knows what to do with intentional irony.  In the meantime, you’re free to take whatever classes the Temple offers, as well as put in an application for the university.”

Anakin shook his head, some of his good mood faltering.  “University?  I can’t afford that.  I mean, yeah, some of the free classes available to the senior Padawans would be nice, but the ones I’d really want to take cost a lot of money.”

“Congratulations,” Obi-Wan told him softly, bringing up a second message.  “You don’t need money.”

“Holy _balls_!” Anakin yelped, his eyes huge.  “They gave me a full scholarship!”

“Master Vrenx may grumble, but he knows real talent when he sees it, Anakin,” Obi-Wan told him.  “He made sure your assessment grades went into the University application system.  They’re particularly interested in your mechanical aptitude.”

“Wow,” Anakin whispered, starting to smile again.  “Wouldn’t it be awesome if I could actually be a tech head, and this Jedi stuff was something to do on the side?”

“You’re the one who told Padmé that she could do both.  I think you can, too.  Just remember, though,” Obi-Wan said, taking back the datapad so he could transfer the information onto Anakin’s terminal.  “Keep your schedule modest.  You don’t have to try to shove every single bit of information they give you into your head at once, and Terza wouldn’t approve your schedule if you tried.”

“Uh, yeah.  Yeah, I can do that,” Anakin answered, still bewildered.  “Uhm…I…wow.  Can I go tell Saini?  In fact, I need to go tell a whole lot of people before I explode.”

“Go,” Obi-Wan said, waving him off.  “Don’t explode all over the couch.  Be back by midnight at the latest, all right?”

That gave Anakin pause.  “Midnight?” he repeated, curious.

“Not a standard Padawan, not a senior Padawan,” Obi-Wan explained, smiling.  “Time enough so that you can make your own schedule for your studies, and just enough rope to hang yourself with if you decide to abuse the privilege.”

Anakin nodded in understanding.  “Don’t abuse the system.  Yes, Master.  I hope I can prove worthy of that trust,” he said, and grabbed his cloak before ducking out into the hall for his intentioned visit.

Obi-Wan leaned back against the couch, breathing out a long sigh.  His insides were fluttering with a whirlwind of old emotions, freshly stirred up—but there was hope, too, and it was doing its best to decimate all of the doubts.  “Oh, Anakin.  I hope you can, too.”


End file.
